Planetarium
by Lasympathetique
Summary: Four of the boys find themselves in South Park's planetarium for an admittedly stupid school project. The group gets separated, and two of the boys become trapped, where fear and panic bring hidden truths to the surface. M for language/suggestive behaviour


The planetarium was freezing and clinically white, giving Kyle the impression he was about to undergo a chemical shower. His pace quickened, the thud of his boots echoing immensely in the dead air. Smokey spheres rotated lazily on flat screens against smatters of twinkling stars, each captioned with neat little black words that Kyle barely took the time to glance at as he broke into a half jog. Stan was running severely late.

Pulling out his small cellphone, Kyle punched letters frustratedly.

'Where r u?'

There was a beat of silence, then a sharp beep.

'On m way 5 min'

Groaning internally, Kyle snapped the phone shut with dramatic flair and stuffed it inside the warm pocket of his jacket. He pulled out a neatly folded paper and smoothed it open, darting analytically over the ridiculous assignment Mr. Garrison had given them last Friday. No matter how he approached it, Kyle was confident in his and Stan's failure. There was simply no way to gather enough evidence for a three page report concerning the possible existence of anal-probing extraterrestrials. The visit to the local shitty planetarium was to cement the fact that there were no outside sources anyone in the class could use as viable proof. Kyle thought that if he and Stan showed Mr. Garrison that they at least tried, the puppet-wielding teacher would go easy on their grade.

Shortly out of breath, Kyle stopped outside the wide double doors. He peered through the window, searching for black hair and a brown jacket. An attendant in sloppy jeans and a lame shirt depicting the half-assed message 'Planets R Cool!' in psychedelic colour eyed him impatiently, but Kyle ignored the stares. The planetarium closed in less than half an hour, if Kyle was underpaid and forced to stay an extra fifteen minutes in this place, he'd be grumpy too.

Shortly Kyle saw three figures walking up the street. He recognized Stan's lithe gait immediately, the dark haired boy walking intently, flanked by two familiar faces down the empty street.

"Hey Kyle," said Butters happily, his youthful face brimming with pleasantness. "Stan mentioned you guys were goin' to the planetarium for the big project, and Craig and I asked to tag along. I hope that's alright with you."

"That's fine, Butters," said Kyle absently. He eyed Craig, who towered behind Stan with spookily expressionless eyes, his hands jammed into the pockets of his baggy sports jacket like he couldn't care less.

"Alright, I figure all we need to do is quickly go through the entire planetarium and take pictures of everything," said Stan initiatively. "That way Mr. Garrison will have no choice but to see that there's absolutely no evidence for alien life anywhere near South Park, and he can't fail us."

"Wow, that sounds like a lot of work," said Craig, raising his brows over his sullen face. "I'd almost rather just fail."

"No one's asking you to be here, you can fuck off for all we care," Kyle gestured to Stan and himself, his voice growing heated. The group had precious little time left in the planetarium before closing, and Kyle didn't care much to waste it bickering stupidly.

Craig flipped him off. "I'm just here for the 'B' minus."

Pinching the bridge of his nose in aggravation, Stan stepped between the glaring daggers. "Don't fight, let's just get this done. If we split up, we can cover more ground quicker." Reaching into his pocket, Stan displayed the small, sleek black cellphone for the group to see. "I'm just using the phone on my camera."

"Gosh, that's a smart idea," chirped Butters as he pulled out his own phone, ornamented with small plastic jewels.

"I didn't bring my phone. I didn't think I'd be needing it."

Kyle huffed. "Fine Craig, you can stick with Stan. I'll go with Butters so that each group covers everything."

Shrugging his lean shoulders, Craig casually flipped off Kyle and sauntered down the hallway, pausing expectantly for Stan. The shorter boy shot a look at Kyle before following suite.

"Uh, gee, that was kind of awkward," mumbled Butters, staring at his shoes. "Craig's not all bad, he's just misunderstood a lot of the times."

"Yeah, or maybe he's actually a giant prick," said Kyle shortly. "Sometimes you're too nice for your own good."

Butters laughed lightly. "I get that a lot. Usually from Dad. But that's fine, I just like helping people."

"Just don't spread yourself too thin," said Kyle with finality, wanting to drop the subject. "You need to watch out for yourself too. Now, let's get started." Rustling around in his coat pockets, Kyle pulled out a crumpled, colourful pamphlet. He smoothed it open, scanning it analytically. "I say let's start with Pluto, and work our way up to the Sun."

His blonde hair bouncing delicately, Butters nodded and grinned.

On the opposite side of the building, Craig whistled lazily while Stan bit his tongue and took snapshots of recent black-hole theories.

"Dude, if you're not going to do work, could you at least shut up?" Stan growled, adjusting the settings in his phone to increase the clarity of the words.

The whistling stopped, and deprived of entertainment, Craig began to explore. He rounded a corner and gripped a random door handle, prying at it. He was surprised to find that is actually was unlocked, the long metal handle creaking down and swinging open. A cold blast of air engulfed his face, and Craig peered into the dark room. There were shelves full of suspended dark liquids, various bottled of different sizes and shapes, stacks of random papers, and other strange things that looked like science experiments. Craig guessed that this was where the special effects goo was stored, the stuff that swirled in a vacuumed tube to imitate the beginnings of the cosmos. It was like stepping into a freezer, icy air circulating subtly throughout the small storage area.

"Craig, stop dicking around in there, it's probably off limits."

Craig snorted, slowly getting pissed. "Kiss my ass, Marsh." He stepped in further, squinting to make out the blurry figures in the unlit room. Random boxes lay askew, giving the impression of abandonment and unkept.

Quick footsteps sounded behind him, and the jacketed shadow of Stan Marsh blocked what little light filtered through the open door. "Craig, what the fu-" He stopped mid sentence, taking in the wintery room, "Dude, what is this?"

Craig shrugged, leaning down to look a lethargic gelatine swishing vial in the eye. "Dunno, some sort of freezer. I guess it's where they keep all the melty shit."

Surveying his surroundings, Stan snapped a few quick pictures. "Well, that's taken care of. Let's go."

"Why?" asked Craig sullenly. He gingerly lifted a lime tinted glass flask larger than his arm, testing the weight in his hands. "This is interesting."

"Dude, just out that back and let's go. Don't fucking break it."

Craig stared at him, then jerked his arms out in a mimicry of a throw, drawing them back when Stan flinched away from the massive vial full of mystery goo. "You're such a pussy."

"I'm not a pussy, you're being an idiot," said Stan sharply, advancing towards Craig. They briefly fumbled over the giant flask until Stan tugged strongly, leveraging his body weight against Craig's admittedly superior muscles. The momentum from the movement sent Craig reeling behind Stan, his arms flailing awkwardly as he hit the open door with a painful thud.

Click

The door closed, Craig still weighted against it. He pressed his hands to the cold surface, regaining his balance. His shoulder fucking hurt like a bitch though, sure to bruise after the collision.

"Nice, Craig. You almost fucking broke it," scolded Stan, his outline barely visible in the unlit room. "Now open the door so I can put this back and we can go."

Flexing his fingers, Craig grazed across the cool steel until he felt the handle in his hands. He turned and pulled.

The door didn't budge.

Immediately Craig tried again. Nothing. He frowned. He tried twisting up, but the door refused to move. Panic began to slowly set into Craig, and he frantically jiggled the handle back and forth, alternating between push and pull. Breathing hard, Craig clenched his teeth and thrust his body desperately against the door.

"Fuck. Fucking fuck shit fuck cock-"

"Dude," said Stan softly, "Open the door."

"I can't."

"What?"

"It's fucking locked."

Stan gaped, speechless. He shook his head like a wet dog, unsure of the words he just heard.

"Are you sure?"

"I'm pretty fucking sure, Stan."

Something about the deadness, the casualty of the tone set Stan on fire. He gritted his teeth and made a fist, advancing towards the door. He rapped against the door powerfully, the bangs echoing loud and uncomfortable in the cramped space.

"Kyle! Butters! We're locked in!" Stan shouted desperately, his heart shaking with tremors and adrenaline. It seemed that the more he screamed, the longer he pounded, the more the temperature dropped. The air grew bitingly cold, stinging Stan's skin and seeping in through his clothing. His brown jacket now seemed terribly thin, as effective as fucking cotton.

"Kyle! Kyle, come on!"

"They can't hear us." Craig said bitingly in the dark room, his voice somewhere to the left. "They're on the other side of the building, and they don't have any reason to come over here."

"Kyle! Butters!"

"Stan. What time is it."

Of course! His fucking cell phone. Quickly Stan dove into his pocket, illuminating the darkness with the pale blue glow of his screen. Reading the numbers, his heart plummeted into his gut. He wanted to puke.

"It's five after five."

The planetarium closed five minutes ago. Feeling truly sick, Stan sank to the floor, clutching his knees to his chest. His throat burned. Kyle and Butters would be outside waiting for them, no doubt kicked out by that unkept employee with the weird shirt. He didn't know if there was a janitorial staff, or routine checks, or what. Would there even be anyone to hear his screams? Or was it all just futile?

The floor was cold too, freezing against Stan's pants. Violent shivers took over his body and his breathing quickened. Even that was growing slowly painful, the air shooting down his lungs like water, drowning him in ice. Another horrible realization dawned on him.

"C-Craig, it's Friday. It's c-closed on weekends. N-n-no one's coming b-back until Monday."

Stan sensed Craig moving somewhere nearby, growing closer. He saw the dim figure sink down beside him, close enough to touch. Stan checked his phone again. No bars, no service through the thick, metal doors it seemed. The cold was shooting up his spine into his brain, panging in his head. He curled into a ball, covering his head but exposing the back of his neck. Tiny hair immediately stood on end, pinpricking into his flesh. He let out a pained gasp, involuntarily.

A warmth suddenly engulfed his shoulders, rubbing feeling into his arm, and Stan vaguely realized that Craig had put his own arm around him in a half hug. He could feel Craig trembling from the cold too, moving quickly to warm himself as well as Stan, and Stan felt a rush of gratitude. He scooted closer, gingerly wrapping his own arm around Craig's lean torso. Even sheathed beneath a sports jacket, he could still feel the smooth planes of Craig's well muscled back and sides.

"T-this is so fucking gay," said Craig with casual inflection, but the cold breaking and cracking his voice.

Stan shook his head, laughing in short gasps as the air grew thicker with cold. "It's all your f-f-fucking fault. You h-had to s-screw around." He trailed off, wanting to save his breaths.

In the silence, the presence of Craig was impossible to ignore. He radiated warmth, a human furnace, as his body heat escaped into the freezing air. Hating himself a little, Stan couldn't help but burrow himself into the heated space of Craig's armpit, his head almost leaning against Craig's rising and falling chest if he didn't intentionally hold it up.

To his surprise, Craig didn't protest. Instead he shifted, crossing his legs and slipping his free arm beneath Stan's legs. Before he knew it, Stan was pulled right onto Craig's lap, cradled like a baby against the taller one's torso. It wasn't until now Stan realized how tall Craig was, how broad his shoulders were, how lean and hard his torso was. Craig wasn't bulky, with veiny muscles and a gym addiction, he was weathered and tall with legs that ate the miles behind him. Stan wasn't scrawny by any means, but it was hard not feeling like a baby when you're cradled on the lap of a six-foot two track star.

Astoundingly, Stan felt a warmth flush in his cheeks as he was pressed against Craig's body by strong arms. With his stark black, feathery hair and pale eyes, Craig was strikingly handsome with a sharp jaw and impish brows. Stan understood that he himself was attracted to both men and women, but still, did he fucking have to start getting all weak in the knees trapped in a fucking freezer? Especially since he had no idea what Craig was, straight, gay, what. He'd never had a girlfriend, so there was that. But he'd never had a boyfriend either. Then again, that could be chalked up to his sarcastic, cold personality.

"I'm sorry." A low, gravelly voice broke the silence.

Stan blinked, shifting his head to look up at Craig.

"What?"

"This is m-my f-f-fucking fault."

Stan bit the inside of his cheek, then tried to shift so that he was facing Craig more. The brief exposure to the bitter air attacked his skin and he immediately pressed against Craig again, hands curled in the smooth fabric of Craig's sports jacket. Chin resting on Craig's shoulder, he spoke softly so as not to hurt Craig's ear.

"Blaming yourself...won't d-do much now. Let's just-" Stan inhaled sharply, unable to speak, rubbing his numbing face against the fabric on Craig's shoulder. His muscles were screaming, and the cold was bringing tears to his eyes. He sniffed loudly, a pathetic smile stretching over his face as he realized he was having a silent bawl like a fucking toddler with a scraped knee. It was dark. It was cold, and he was terrified. How long could the human body survive at icy temperatures? He didn't know. They could die. It was entirely possible that they could die, their frozen, stiff corpses found intertwined Monday morning.

Releasing a loud, shaking sigh, Stan made himself pull away.

"I'm b-being...augh, I'm s-so..."

"Such a p-pussy?" murmured Craig softly. A warm hand began carding through Stan's hair, surprisingly heated compared to the rest of Craig. "K-kind of."

He couldn't help it, Stan snorted and smiled. "Fuck off."

They sat in cold, penetrating silence, punctuated only by the occasional shiver that overcame Stan's throat and breath. It seemed like an eternity in the darkness, but slowly Stan's eyelids grew heavy, his heart beating more and more sluggishly as the cold wrapped around it like molasses. His head dropped into the crook of Craig's neck, resting in the warmth there. His hair was still being stroked. Time was slowing down, and it was becoming so hard to stay awake. So tempting to just slip into soothing, sleeping black, where the cold wouldn't bother him anymore...

"We n-need to stay warm," said Craig in a calmly authoritative voice, like a teacher talking to a homesick kindergartener. It made Stan feel calmer, despite his shaking limbs and slowly shattering lungs.

"Your hand is w-w-warm," stuttered Stan, leaning his head into Craig's glowing touch.

There was a contemplative silence as Stan could hear the gears in Craig's head turning. Then, with a start, Craig pushed Stan off.

"H-hey" Stan gave a small shout of surprise as he hit the numbing, metal floor. The shock woke him up completely, aching and jolting horribly in his bones. Scrambling to get away, he wobbled up from all fours to a bent-over standing position, unwilling to uncoil and let the cold get his from all angles. Vaguely he was aware of a rustling of fabric, a sharp zipping noise, and then suddenly large hands were prying his own hands from his underarms and forcing them up above his head.

"C-c-craig!" Stan protested feebly as the taller boy clamped his arms together with one hand, his other fumbling around Stan's jacket zipper. Once his jacket flapped open the air hit him cold and fresh through his shirt. His mind was racing, he didn't understand, until suddenly his shirt was pushed over his head and his bare chest was meet with a sudden scorching softness. Releasing a breath of sheer relief, Stan let himself melt as he was pulled down to the floor again, his jacket being draped across his back like a blanket. The warmth beneath him moved against him like breath, pressing and retreating with feather softness, and Stan realized that the heat was Craig, Craig's bare body pressed against his own in delicious warmth. It was so much nicer, realer, without the flimsy barrier of clothing, and Stan slipped his arms beneath the jacket covering Craig's back, rubbing warm, tender circles into the tightening muscles, bringing feeling back to his fingers. He could feel Craig's surprised exhale tickle his hair, and even that was warm. He couldn't bring himself to think how awkward it was, how possibly sexual the situation might appear, his nerves were in such bliss. His brain was shutting down and his body was taking over.

"It's warmer t-this way," explained Craig, tightening his hold around Stan's body. They were seated so that Stan was straddled on Craig's lap, his legs and arms curling like a koala around Craig to escape the freezing air. Craig bore the brunt of the icy floor, but he seemed okay. Stan ignored subtle ways their groins pressed together, Craig's soft breath on his neck, the tense fingers gripped around his shoulders and splayed across his back. This was about warmth. This was survival. If Stan thought Craig was doing this with any semblance of romantic intention, he was severely mistaken, because no way would Craig Tucker ever go for someone as dorky and laid back as Stan. In school they were from vastly different worlds. Stan knew that he could be really popular, but his friendship with Kyle made him stand out. Their epic bromance was the topic of several rumours, and although relatively sociable, Stan always wound up preferring Kyle to any other company. It wasn't so much that they isolated themselves it was that they were simply irreplaceable to one another.

In contrast, Craig was tall and icy, intimidating. He skipped class and smoked, he had tattoos, he flipped off teachers and had a permanent chair outside the principal's office. He ran with Clyde's gang, but even then he seemed the misfit. Whispers circulated constantly, he was a hard-core drug addict, a gang member, a criminal, a psychopath. It was like Craig simply couldn't care less about anything. The guy was without compassion, a handsome, emotionless statue. Stan had to admit he admired Craig's innate ability to not give a fuck, but he felt a twinge of pity for the shut-out school pariah. It was like Craig was scared of human contact.

At least he thought, until Stan felt soft lips at his neck, moving softly and pressing hot. He moaned unintentionally, leaning into the added warmth. His pulse began to race, but his mind screamed question marks.

"Craig, w-what are y-you-"

"Keeping warm," muttered Craig against the soft flesh Stan's neck, his words muffled by their smothering contact. "Mm on th' floor, remember?"

Stan gasped as Craig continued to kiss, his mouth wet and deliciously hot. The sensitive skin of his neck reacted to every graze, and as Craig slowly became more aggressive, nipping and sucking with vigor, Stan knew he would have a purpled mark. But he couldn't care less. His breathing hitched, his fingers curling into the hard smoothness of Craig's bare back with tension. His thighs quivered, tightening around Craig's waist and the taller boy continued to attack his neck.

Craig motherfucking Tucker was giving him a hickey. The whole thing seemed preposterous, and in the darkness it was impossible for Stan to connect the staring blue eyes and smooth, unreadable face to such passion and energy.

Stan gasped as Craig's teeth grazed the gooseflesh on his neck, and the taller boy withdrew smally, close enough for his nose to remain against Stan's cold skin.

"This alright?" asked Craig, gently nudging against Stan. The movement was sweet and unsure, and Stan felt himself grin as his stomach fluttered in response. He felt light headed and giddy, like a preteen meeting a dreamy rock star. This was so unlike the Craig he knew.

"Yeah...fine, Craig," said Stan breathlessly. "F-feels nice."

Craig leaned back into the crook of Stan's neck with desperation, his lips moving more aggressively. Stan could feel warm breath turning to steam in the bitter air against his jaw like mist. His thoughts were racing, his face flushed with blood.

"A-are you into...g-guys then?"

There was a pause, and Stan shifted uncomfortably as he missed the soft, warm movement against his neck.

"Yeah," said Craig, speaking against Stan's flesh.

"S-same."

Stan could feel Craig's smirk. "No shit?"

Stan snorted. "You're a dick."

"I know." The words were flat and low, something in them catching wrongly in Stan's gut.

He brought a hand to intertwine in Craig's hair, fluffing through it tenderly. Here this kid was, sitting on a floor of stinging ice, legs probably going numb, all for the sake of Stan's warmth. He didn't even know why. They were never really close in school. It seemed he didn't know the dark haired boy at all, but then again, did anyone?

"That's...I mean..." Stan fumbled for words awkwardly. It was difficult to think in the freezing storage room, on the lap of a handsome boy he barely knew.

"I'm not nice, Stan," said Craig softly, the words made erotic when breathed into Stan's ear. "I'm a bad kid."

Stan felt an electric spark beneath his skin, infecting his pulse. "You, uh, trying to back that up right now or-"

"Yeah."

Lips never breaking contact, Craig moved slowly up Stan's neck to his jawline. The soft pressure made Stan close his eyes, leaning into the touch. He felt the lips, thin and darkly pink, nudging at the corner of his mouth.

"You're really sweet, for a bad kid."

"Am I?"

Craig seemed to take the words as a challenge, because the next thing he knew Stan felt strong, large hands sliding from his back to his chest, running up and down, hungry for touch. They cupped his hips, thumbs rubbing slowly and strongly against his abdomen, pulling him even closer. There was nothing between them now, no room for the freezing air. Stan could feel Craig's heart beating, his lungs breathing rapidly.

Craig kissed Stan, moving their mouths together in rhythmic passion. Starting a little when he received a sharp nip, Stan inhaled breathily as Craig slipped his tongue between the other's lips. The room was cold around them but Stan was on fire. He kissed back, or tried too, but Craig was incessantly dominant. He swept through Stan's mouth, tasting like spices as Stan moved shyly against him. Hands dug deeper into his hips, gripping almost painfully, grinding the smaller boy against Craig with sensual friction.

But the words still bugged Stan, and he reluctantly tore away.

"Craig, you wouldn't be doing this if you as heartless as you make yourself out to be."

The pause was stiff, and Craig's head moved closer. Stan was surprised when lips pressed gently to his cheek, resting there.

"It's...easier. In a situation like this," mumbled Craig. "I have an excuse."

"You don't need an excuse to be kind, or passionate."

"I do."

"Why?" Stan was utterly perplexed.

Craig's weight shifted beneath Stan, his legs pushing the boy closer. "None of your business."

Stan frowned. "Why? What are you scared of?"

"Fuck off, Marsh."

Laughing bitterly, Stan tightened his grip around Craig's body. "Not happening, Tucker. Even if you wanted me to, we're kind of stuck here. And it's getting colder."

He wasn't sure if that was true, but Stan felt as though the temperature was dropping with every passing minute. Thank goodness he had Craig here with him. He told Craig as much, but Craig just seemed to distance himself further. He wouldn't look at Stan, arms growing heavier around him.

Stan took a deep breath.

"For the longest time I had a crush on Kyle. I was like twelve when it started, and it was horrible cause he liked Nicole and I knew that he'd never ever think of me like I thought of him. It got really awkward, I stopped asking him to sleep over and would try to avoid him at school and...he ended up confronting me. It was bad. He called me out on everything, but he had no idea why I was doing it. So...I told him. We were fourteen and I was just fucking crying, I felt like such a freak. And..." Trailing off, Stan frowned as the memory swept over him. "...He hit me. Smacked me right on my face. And my stomach just sank, I mean, it was the worst feeling in the world." He sniffed in the cold air.

"But then it was weird because he was hugging me, and I just thought, what the fuck. Like, I'm gay, I'm fucking gay and he knows. I couldn't believe he was even touching me, I mean, he'd just laid one straight across my face. But I could kind of feel he was shaking pretty bad, so I hugged him back and we just did that for a solid minute. And he started calling me an idiot, and asking me what kind of friend I thought he was, cause there was no way on God's great earth he'd-" Something caught in his throat as Stan thought of his best friend. Kyle's hazel eyes and bouncing red hair were miles away, but his face grinned and his eyes sparkled in Stan's mind. He swallowed, his eyes stinging.

"-that he'd ever think I was a freak, a-and that I could be fucking p-purple with three heads for all he cared, because I was his best friend. And then he chewed me out for thinking he'd freak out." Stan laughed at the memory of Kyle, brows crossed, face red, scolding him like his fucking mother all while squeezing the life out of him. "After that we played video games and I stayed overnight...first time in probably six months."

Winding down, Stan pressed his palms flat against Craig's back, really feeling the smooth shoulder blades, the small dip that led to the spine. Craig was still, unresponsive, and Stan really did feel like he was embracing a marble statue.

Finally, he sensed the stone lips parting, Craig releasing a long, tired sigh.

"Thanks for the share, Marsh."

He sounded weary, the words heavy and tired, barely uplifted in sarcastic inflection.

"It had a purpose, you know."

"Yeah. I know."

"So...?"

"So nothing." Craig leaned his head in, resting it in Stan's shoulder. His jaw was sharp, prominent and poking against Stan's collarbone. "You killed the mood."

Stan laughed, his breath fogging and mingling in the cold air. "Dude, we're in a freezer. The mood was killed before it started."

"Why do you have to get so involved with everything?"

Stan blinked. "What do you mean?"

"People kiss all the time, Tucker, I don't see why you have to make a big fucking parade out of it."

"Well, yeah, but you don't."

"Neither does Tweek, you're not harassing him," growled Craig, his voice growing in intensity.

"Tweek's not the one giving me a giant hickey on my neck," Stan shot back, challenging. "Tweek's socially awkward, and the reason he's never had a date is obvious. He's high-strung, his parents are psychotic, and he can't be bothered to add the pressures of a girlfriend on top of that cuz he'd explode. But you..." said Stan contemplatively. "I can't find a reason behind anything you do."

"Not everything has a hidden meaning, this isn't fucking Da Vinci Code."

Stan ignore the snide comment. "You act like you don't care, so you can't...act like you're doing now and not expect me to get confused. Or pissed. You might not give a shit, but I do."

"You wish Kyle were here."

"Wha-what?" asked Stan quizzically, utterly lost.

"You'd rather it was Kyle stuck in here with you. Or Kenny. Butters. Fucking Cartman."

"What are you talking about?"

Craig's hand slid to the small of Stan's back, pressing with incredible delicacy, like Stan was made of glass and he was afraid to break him. The other held the coat draped over Stan's shoulders in place, pulling it so it covered more.

"It's nothing personal. I'm never anyone's first pick."

The words incurred an automatic frown on Stan's face. "Craig, that's a really horrible thing to say. And it's not true."

"It is."

"There are loads of people who care about you man. Clyde-"

"Has Token."

Stan blinked . "He has you too."

"No," said Craig, matter-of-fact, "he tolerates me."

Stan furrowed his brows. "Tweek."

To his surprise Craig laughed. "Tweek's too wrapped up in his own issues to notice mine. He'll get it all figured out, then he'll move on. I take advantage of him, it's not good. It's not healthy, what me and Tweek have, but I don't fucking stop it." He softened, fingers absently caressing Stan's back and neck.

"I'm dragging him down with me. He'd have so many friends if it wasn't for me. He'd be great, he's kind, and smart, funny, but I keep him all to myself and make him depend on me. And I'm too much of a fucking asshole to stop."

Stan's mouth moved wordlessly, stunned silent. For a moment he'd sensed something close to passion stirring in Craig, apathetic Craig. It wasn't a romantic passion like the kisses, sporadic and needy. It was a low, heated, long-lived stream of fury and frustration that tainted Craig's words. And the kicker: Craig directed it towards himself.

"Maybe this is why you come off as heartless," mumbled Stan, thinking aloud. "You keep it all pent up inside, everything you feel. It just all keeps piling up."

"No one else needs to see this shit."

"Why are you telling me these things, then?"

Craig was silent.

"It feels good, yeah? Getting it out? This is how people connect, Craig," said Stan mildly, not meaning to make the words humorous. "They talk, and...and share feelings, and connect with one another. It's just a way for people to remind themselves that they're not the only ones going through bad times, y'know?"

"Would you consider right now a bad time?" Craig asked dryly.

Wringing his mouth, Stan automatically shivered as the chilled air reminded him where he was.

"Well...we did do a lot of pussy, soul-searchy shit. But I think I'd rather know whether or not I'll survive till the morning."

"Ah."

"But," continued Stan, "I want to keep doing this afterwards. If there is an afterwards."

"You're so melodramatic."

"I'm a cautious realist."

Craig snorted. "That's not a thing."

"Uh, yeah. It definitely is."

"You're an idiot."

"I just told you Craig, I'm a cautious realist. Very different."

"Stop talking," said Craig wryly, before pressing his lips to Stan's.

They kissed, sweet and long, neither wanting to shatter the precious moment. Stan clung to it like feathers slipping through his fingers, and when Craig slowly pulled away, he wound his fingers in Craig's black hair, keeping their faces close.

"I never thought I'd...we'd ever be like this," said Stan breathlessly. "But I'm happy."

Emotion flickered through Craig's face. He reached up to hold Stan's hand, still tangled in his hair. His mouth was a straight line, his eyes intense and focused. Only his brows quivered, from the cold or confusion, Stan couldn't tell.

"Really?"

"Yeah, why wouldn't I be?" Stan smiled. "You're pretty chill, Craig. I bet if people knew what you were like, they'd like you fine."

"...really?"

"I'm not lying, dude."

The small grin on Craig's face filled Stan with a rush of happiness and pride. He leaned in to press his lips against the flat plane of Craig's cheek when something stopped him. He frowned, hovering inches from Craig's when he stopped. He frowned.

"Do you hear that?"

Craig's face twisted with confusion, eyes darting with thought. They widened.

"Footsteps."

In a whirlwind Stan scrambled to his feet, ignoring the slap of freezing air against his naked torso as he pounded in the cold metal door with both fists.

"Hey! Hey, hey! We're in here!" Stan shouted, inhaling deep gasps of what felt like liquid ice down his throat. His mind was racing, praying to be loud enough.

Muffled voices were audible, inflections of panic and confusion that were quickly growing nearer. The footsteps quickened into rapid succession, prompting Stan to scream louder.

The footsteps stopped, but they were extremely close. Stan was pretty sure he heard the faint mumbling of 'oh my God' before the handle began to turn and the damned, immovable steel barrier was cracked open. A growing sliver of impossible brightness scorched Stan's eyes and he squinted, shying away. But then the warmth of room-temperature air engulfed him and he wobbled forward blindly. Beside him he heard Craig give off a noticeable sigh of relief, as the blanket of heat undoubtedly swept over his own skin, relaxing his muscles and smoothing his screaming nerves.

Stan immediately sank to the ground, back leaning on the wall of the planetarium hallway. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply. They were saved.

"Holy shit, dude, you're naked."

Kyle's voice was such a comfort to hear, it made Stan smile. He stretched his neck and blinked up at the utterly confused redhead staring down at him. He shrugged.

"We were...ah...staying warm." He glanced over at Craig, bent over at the waist and leaning against the wall. Craig looked up and bobbed his head in agreement, his face full of serious relief.

Kyle extended hand, pulling Stan to his feet. He nodded intelligently. "Yeah, that's actually a really effective way to conserve heat. Too bad you were stuck with mother-Tucker." He shrugged casually.

Stan frowned. "It was actually his idea, and it was fine."

Kyle raised his eyebrows, but didn't press the issue. "Okay, whatever."

Stan looked over to see Butters babbling over Craig, a bumbling blonde ball of motherly electricity. He noticed the way Craig actually faced Butters, making eye contact, not shying away from the hugs and pats of concern. He wasn't really returning them either, but this was at least a start.

"-and as soon as we caught up with him we explained that we couldn't find you guys! So he let us back in for like ten minutes, and it was Kyle's idea to look down this hallway and then we heard the banging on the door, and I was like, that's gotta be them!" Butters explained breathlessly, tripping over words as he danced around Craig like a puppy. "So we followed the sound to that big door and Kyle pulled the handle open and we found you guys!"

"That's great, Butters."

"Gee, thanks Craig!"

"We got the rest of the pictures, by the way," said Kyle, holding up his phone.

"So we're good to head home? I want to take a warm bath and never stop."

Kyle smirked at Stan, grabbing his shoulder and shaking him gently. "You're good to go. We can meet tomorrow to write up the full report." He turned to Craig, his face carefully impassive. "Uh, you doing alright?"

Craig nodded curtly, then opened his mouth after a moment. "Yeah. I'll be fine. Thanks."

Kyle gave a funny smile. "Good. Good to hear." He shot Stan a look full of amusement and confusion.

Stan shrugged, then Butters handed him his shirt. He put on the stiff, icy fabric, giving on final shudder before Kyle undid his own jacket and slid it around Stan's shoulders. The gesture was familiar, and Stan felt warm. The boys started down the hallway, Craig falling into rhythm with them, all pretending to listen to Butters jabber on about Pluto and teachers and a bunch of other stuff that didn't matter.

They reached the exit, and Butters fiercely hugged Stan and the others before skipping off. Craig was still for a moment, then extended his arm in a fist, lightly pressing it against Stan's upper arm. Stan raised his brows and grinned.

"Seeya dude."

Stan watched Craig walk away, his tall figure passing buildings and finally turning a corner, disappearing from sight.

"Uh, Stan," said Kyle, "you are going to tell me everything that happened in that freezer."

Stan cracked his neck, then turned to face Kyle full on. "Yeah...we're probably gonna be going out soon."

"Excuse me?"

"Craig's chill."

"And gay?"

"And gay."

"Well then..." Kyle trailed off. "I still want to know. This is awfully uncharacteristic of you."

"It's kinda between us."

Kyle looked so jilted, Stan pulled him into a quick squeeze of a half-hug. "Kyle, I'll tell you once Craig's cool with it. I can't leave something like...this, bottled up inside me, I'll fucking explode."

"That bad?"

Again, Stan shrugged. "I dunno if 'bad' is the right way to explain it. Maybe steamy?"

"Augh, dude!"

"You asked."

"Yeah, but..." Kyle shivered in exaggerated disgust. "Wait. Is that why you weren't wearing shirts?!"

"Possibly."

"Stan, you are a preverted opportunist."

"Somehow I'm really okay with that."

"Stop, I'm going to throw up lunch."

"You can't fucking waste food with kids in Africa, asshole."

"I'll waste all the fucking food I want, you sick slut."

Bantering, the two boys walked down the road to Kyle's house, Stan phoning his mom to ensure that he could spend the night.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Wooh! First South Park fanfic. That turned out to be wildly more character-y than I expected lol. Sorry to everyone expecting smut, that's not something I'm comfortable writing about at the moment, but I hope you still enjoyed it!

This was written for pure fun, so please overlook any grammar/continuity errors. If you have critics about how I can improve my writing, I would love to hear them!

Thanks so much for reading my story, have an absolutely stellar day :)


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